Married to a Stranger. Louise Allen
had never tempted her in the slightest, she admitted as she negotiated the village street and a flock of sheep. Her body kept murmuring that it expected more. Sophia tried not to listen to it. More meant surrendering everything to Callum Chatterton.
‘Confound the woman.’ Cal stopped at the top of the hill and surveyed the lane down to the village; it was mercifully free of wrecked carriages. The breath rasped in his lungs from running for a mile, but he took a grim satisfaction that he was not panting. He had dragged himself from the lethargy of grief and had thrown himself into physical activity, those past months in London. Boxing, fencing, riding. Sex. They had all helped heal him, helped bring some balance back as well as strengthening his body.
He surveyed the road. If Sophia had got this far, then she was probably sufficiently in control to get home safely. He had chosen steady horses so he could concentrate on her and they had been well exercised. Now he should stop worrying that she had broken her neck and face the fact that he had badly mishandled that kiss. She truly was an innocent and he had shocked her, not so much by what he had done, but by the reactions he had provoked in her.
He had not set out to shock her, Cal told himself as he strode down the hill and into the inn yard. He had intended to kiss her, with restraint, and convince her that marriage to him was nothing to be afraid of. And then she had quivered in his arms and he had sensed the innocent natural passion and sensuality so he had given a mental shrug and found himself taking, demanding, far more than he should.
Sophia’s total surrender in his arms would be flattering if it were not for the fact that she had probably simply been overwhelmed by the novelty of it all. And now the physical desires he had been suppressing when he was near her were all on the surface again. The taste of a woman, the feel of her in his arms, was as powerful as a drug. No, not just a woman. This woman. He wanted Sophia Langley very badly indeed.
‘ Anari murkha,’ he muttered in Hindi. ‘Worse than a fool.’
‘Sir? Sorry, sir.’ An ostler emerged from the stables.
‘Not you.’ Cal unclenched his teeth and tried for a more pleasant tone. ‘I require a horse to get to Flamborough Hall; I’ll have a groom bring it back later today.’
Having to deal with a suspicious ostler who could not understand why a gentleman should arrive sweaty, horseless and without his card case or more than a crown in his pocket, and then riding a slug of a nag home, did nothing to improve Cal’s mood.
He had tried to be honest with her. He could not find it in himself to love, to risk caring so deeply, ever again. Life was too uncertain—how could he cope if he allowed himself to feel for her and then lost her?
Did she understand the difference between physical passion and love? He did not want to hurt her, break her heart all over again. And yet … An errant smile curled the corner of his mouth as he thought of Sophia’s reaction to his kisses and caresses. She had felt glorious in his arms, despite her inexperience.
He was still musing on that as he rode up to the front of the Hall and tossed the reins to the groom who ran forwards to take them. ‘This belongs to the Black Swan in Long Welling. Have someone take it back at once, will you?’
‘Yes, sir. Miss Langley called with the curricle, sir. Wilkins drove her home.’
‘She has won her wager, then,’ Cal said lightly. ‘Most improper. You and Wilkins won’t speak of it, I trust.’
He strolled into Will’s study, his mind full of interesting memories which his body, relaxed by vigorous exercise, was eagerly endorsing.
‘There you are! How did it go?’ His elder brother tossed down his pen and looked up, his expression lightening. ‘You look better—so much colour in your face. Sophia said yes, then?’ Will had been enthusiastic when Cal had returned to the Hall and told him of his intention to marry Sophia. Cal suspected that he had been worried about the Langleys, but had been unable to penetrate their polite reserve.
Cal found himself staring at the triple portrait of the three brothers that hung over the fireplace. There was the man Sophia had loved. He forced his attention back to Will. ‘At first she said, maybe. We went for a drive and decided we did not like Wellingford and we did like Long Welling. Then there was an … incident and now I do not know.’
‘Incident?’ Will’s left brow arched up.
‘Incident,’ Cal repeated, returning a look devoid of expression. ‘She will, however, be marrying me whether she likes it or not.’ He looked away from his brother’s speculative gaze to Dan’s painted smile. Once, just thinking about Daniel had been enough to trigger the instinct that he was there, listening. Now the void inside echoed with emptiness. He stamped down on the feeling.
‘I will let her sleep on it,’ he added. It was tempting to go straight over to the Langleys’ house and have this out, but years of negotiating contracts had taught him to wait and keep the other party guessing. Sophia was angry and embarrassed now; by morning he would wager she would be unsettled.
I need an heir; I would like several children, in fact. He had said that to her and, until the words had left his lips, he had not realised that they would be true at a deeper level than the simple need for a successor. And the way she spoke about children made him think she wanted them, too. He glanced back at the portrait. A wife and children. More hostages to fate.
There was a silence, then Will said, ‘She deserves happiness.’
‘Of course,’ Cal agreed. He would do his best to make her content, just as long as she did not expect love.
Sophia paced up and down the bedchamber floor. I will say no, she thought, sinking down on the end of the bed. It was shameful how he had made her feel—wanton and vulnerable and yearning. And ignorant. She was playing right into Callum Chatterton’s wicked, clever, hands. He had not been shaken to the core by that kiss, that was for sure. Mr Chatterton knew what he was doing. No doubt being bedded by him would be a shattering experience. Not that he was likely to enjoy it much, for she could hardly measure up to the skills of the women who had been his mistresses over the years.
A husband who loved his wife would not be disappointed in her ignorance, would be faithful to her. But this was to be a marriage of convenience and under those circumstances a wife was not supposed to take any notice if her husband took a mistress.
Which was not fair. But then life was not fair and she was not some young girl who could afford to dream of fairytales and princes.
She would refuse to marry him. He affected her too much on too many levels. She desired him, he had demonstrated that clearly enough. There had been moments today when she had simply relaxed and enjoyed being with him. He could make her like him and that would hurt if he would not let her close to him. He reminded her of Daniel and of a long-ago innocent time and of her own guilty conscience.
Sophia threw the window open and leaned her elbows on the sill, shivering a little in the cool night air. It washed over her heated skin and with it came a sobering flood of reality. She could fume and plan and curse Callum Chatterton and her feelings about him all she liked, but her own fate was not the only thing at stake here and her anger over what he had revealed to her of her own nature and desires was almost irrelevant.
Even if she found paid employment she would never earn enough to pay off their debts and keep Mama in genteel comfort. Her mother and brother would have to sell this house, pay off the bills and settle together in whatever humble parish Mark found himself. But if she was married into the Chatterton family, then a whole world of influence would be opened up to her brother, her mother would bask happily in the assurance of status and connection and she could have a family of her own.
The same results might come if she married someone else, of course, but it was a daydream to imagine she could easily find another eligible suitor at the age of twenty-six, shut away in the depths of the country with no dowry and no connections.
She turned back into the room and found her sketching pad and began to draw. A church interior, the long aisle, a challenge in perspective,